


Times like these

by D_f_m22



Category: The Flight Attendant (TV)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:27:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29338302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D_f_m22/pseuds/D_f_m22
Summary: Miranda comes to Cecilia after an assignment goes wrong.Cecilia enjoys their time together and slowly starts learn more about her.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	Times like these

**Author's Note:**

> This is mainly me getting a feel for these characters. I want to write a few other stories 
> 
> Feedback is appreciated!

"Miranda?" Cecilia called as she entered the flat, flinging her spare set of keys to Miranda's London home (could it really be called a home if the owner had spent the grand total of five days over three years there?) onto the oak console table as she kicked off her heels. "I'm back and I've got your prescription." 

In her left hand, she gripped the paper bag she'd collected from Lloyd's pharmacy tightly. She'd taken a risk to even get the prescription- a favour from a contact of a contact of a contact- but it was what she needed to do to prevent the wounds of Miranda's latest business meeting becoming infected. She couldn't quite remember when she'd become Miranda's go to person when things went too far. Yet, here they were. When she was feeling sentimental, Cecilia told herself it was because Miranda trusted her- and more than that- needed her. It was a nice feeling, empowering even, that a woman such as Miranda needed her. It was like having a wild animal notice something special in you that they didn't see in other humans. Of course, most of the time Cecilia was more realistic in her assessment of her relationship with Miranda. Miranda was a survivor, she had literally been trained to survive, and like all good survivors she was also an accomplished opportunist. Cecilia was an opportunity. She was well-enough connected in Viktor's organisation, knew not to ask questions when Miranda arrived bloodied and bruised on her doorstep in the middle of the night and yet was not a big enough fish to pose a threat to Miranda's position as Viktor's pet assassin. Still, every time Miranda arrived on her doorstep covered in blood that was often a mix of her own and her latest assignment's, Cecilia let her in. It was what had happened two nights ago- a bullet wound to the abdomen, excessive bleeding and a fractured wrist. Cecilia wasn't sure how Miranda had made it to her place in one piece- sheer force of will , she imagined, but access to one of Viktor's drivers who were paid enough not to notice things also helped. Cecilia had used the little first aid training she had to remove the bullet and disinfect the wound. Miranda had been a fussy patient- as always- but she had surprised Cecilia by requesting they returned to her flat on the other side of London. She'd wanted to relax at home- an admission that had made her seem uncharacteristically human. 

As she stepped into the living room, she'd still received no reply or acknowledgement from Miranda. Glancing over her shoulder, Cecilia was reassured to find Miranda's black coat still hanging by the door, her boots lined up neatly next to the black leather handbag that she'd never leave behind. Maybe Miranda had finally given into sleep, taking Cecilia's advice and having an uncharacteristic afternoon nap. A cool breeze entered the living room, lifting the floor length net curtains just off thr floor and back down again. The French doors were open, leading onto a balcony that really shouldn't have been open in mid-February. 

"I'm out here." 

Miranda's voice flew in with the cold breeze, just as cold as the breeze itself and more Scottish than ever. She must have been back in the UK some time if her accent was reverting to form. 

"Okay, I'm just going to grab us some water and I'll be out." 

She received a distracted hum in response. As she went through the motions of filling up a jug of water and collecting two glasses from the kitchen cabinet, Cecilia imagined Miranda sat outside on the balcony. Even though she hadn't yet seen her, Cecilia could picture her sat on the whicker chair, face turned upwards to the winter sun. It was mid afternoon but it was that point in February where the days were longer and the promise of spring was on the horizon. Maybe Miranda wasn't sunning herself at all, maybe she was reading. Did Miranda read? Not likely, it was more probable that the brunette was scanning through her burner phone, reading texts from people Cecilia was not allowed to know and awaiting a call from Viktor. 

He always called after a fuck up.

Placing the water and glasses on a tray, Cecilia slipped her feet into a pair of light grey moccasin slippers and stepped out onto the balcony. 

The Miranda that met her on the balcony was not the Miranda of her imagination. There was no book, but her phone was out. Her smartphone that very few people had the number to. Had Viktor called yet? Judging by the large bouquet of flowers and bottle of Glenfiddich's whisky standing on the wooden table, Viktor had been in touch. Cecilia wondered whether it was a thank you gift or an incentive gift. 

"The other guy got off worse than me," Miranda explained by way of an answer. She must have caught her looking at the offerings. "Viktor is a happy man." 

Cecilia nodded, releasing a breath she hadn't realised she had been holding. "Good. And you? How are you feeling?" 

Miranda smiled at that question, thin lips drawn back tightly and eyes squinted against the low sun. She didn't look like herself- face pale and without make up, it was possible to see the dark purple bruise just under her right eye socket. Her hair was still loose, but not as sleek as normal as her curls and frizz fell over her shoulders. She was wearing what looked like yoga pants- black ones, not the colourful Sweaty Betty variety that Cecilia wore to her HIIT workouts- and an oversized grey jumper that looked to be cashmere. 

"I've got my expensive thank you present from Viktor, the money for the job should be arriving in my bank by this evening and I'm not dead," Miranda said as she reached into a pocket and retrieved a packet of cigarettes, holding them out in offering. "I couldn't be better. Sit down and have a fag would you? You're making the place untidy."

Cecilia took the cigarette and sat down obediently. Still, she said,"you shouldn't smoke. Its bad for you." 

Miranda's smile grew at that and she shook her head before taking a drag at her cigarette. As she did, "I'm not in the business for doing things that are good for me." 

"Have you tried any of those mindfulness clips I suggested?" Cecilia asked. "You know, for your own sanity?" 

Miranda waved her hand (the one with the nonfractured wrist) dismissively, but didn't deny or confirm it either way. Instead, her gaze wandered along the table and fell on the bottle of whisky. The golden liquid shimmered in the bright sun, enticing and hypnotic. Cecilia could sense that the conversation was over, Miranda returning inwards. She wondered if she was tired, or in pain. On the first night, when she had finally managed to stop the bleeding, Miranda had very quietly admitted she'd thought she was a goner. And more than that, she'd admitted she didn't want to die that way; in an alleyway, alone after a high end arms deal had turned sour. It was the first time Miranda had ever said something like that to her but she didn't dare press her any further. She doubted Miranda would ever admit to her confession again. 

"Did you want any of the tablets I got you yet?" Cecilia asked, more for something to say. 

"No," Miranda said, nodding in the direction of the gifts. "Open the bottle, would you? It's a glorious day for a wee bevvy." 

Cecillia tutted, but complied as she poured two glasses. She took one and offered the other to Miranda. 

"Presumptuous of you to help yourself like that," Miranda said, eyebrow arched as she considered the woman. "Its my 'thank you for killing someone who was trying to double cross me present', not yours." 

"Yeah, well it was my rug you bled out on the other night. I'll take this as compensation." 

Miranda chuckled darkly and took a swig of the whisky, wincing as the liquid burned her throat on the way down. 

"Tastes just the same as it did when I was twelve," Miranda said wryly. "The fucker knew it would." 

"Christ Miranda, twelve!" Cecilia exclaimed, shaking her head in disapproval. "No wonder you were sent back to care from so many foster homes." 

Miranda looked over at cecilia darkly, her expression pained and then furious as she shook her head at her. 

"The bloke in one of my foster homes introduced me to the drink actually," Miranda said coldly. "He liked it when when I called him daddy, that was a fucked up thing to say to a kid that had never had a home. He also liked it when the whisky made me sleepy. It was easier to..." Miranda cut herself off, shaking her head and downing the remainder of her drink. 

Cecilia sat in silence for a few seconds, uncertain if Miranda was fucking with her or not. 

"Fuck. Miranda, seriously?" Cecilia said. "And Viktor sends you the same whisky after every assignment?" 

"Quite intentionally," Miranda said. "Its a reminder from him to me that he knows everything about me." 

"That's fucked up," Cecilia muttered. "You know that's not normal, right?" 

Miranda laughed. "It used to bother me more." 

"You should----" 

Cecilia was cut off by a sudden noise on the balcony. A plant pot falling against wooden decking. She went to whisper something at Miranda but was cut off again. 

"Shhh!" Miranda hissed, standing suddenly despite her injuries. She was poised, listening to something only she could hear. And then there was a hiss that didn't come from Miranda, it was followed by a meow and the appearance of the scruffliest tortoiseshell cat Cecilia had ever seen. "It's my cat. I knew he'd come back." 

Miranda crossed the balcony and picked up the tortoiseshell who glared at Cecilia. It had a scar running down one side of its face and a chunk missing from its right ear. As Miranda returned to her seat, the cat settled in her lap with a content purr. 

"Your cat?" Cecilia questioned. "When did you get a cat?" 

"This morning," Miranda said in a matter of fact tone. "When I was having coffee." 

"You can't just steal someone's cat!" Cecilia argued. 

"I've done worse," Miranda reasoned. "Anyway he's a stray. Are you going yo make me tell you my sob story about a foster family that made me get rid of my beloved tabby?" 

"You're a fucker," Cecilia grinned. "But seriously, who's going yo look after him when you're away?" 

Miranda scratched the cat behind his ear and looked up at Cecilia with a smirk. "Oh Cecilia, do you really need to ask?"


End file.
